


Every One of You

by mokuyoubi



Series: Carmen 'Verse [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-fame Spencer wakes up six years in the future, to find himself in the home shared by his future self and Brendon, who are really cosy with each other…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every One of You

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK, guys. This was supposed to be a birthday drabble for redorchid and then it mutated. Purely self-indulgent, fluffy schmoop. Thanks so much to okubyo_kitsune for her quick and lovely beta work.

Spencer had a headache. He’d had a headache for the past twenty-four hours at least, and no dosage of ibuprofen had managed to dispel it. It was currently being helped in large part by the epic shouting match going on in the next bedroom over. Spencer toed Brent in the thigh and when Brent didn’t even look up from his magazine, Spencer drew his leg back and kicked, hard.

“What the fuck, dude?” Brent muttered, tugging out one of his ear buds. 

“Your turn,” Spencer said. 

Brent rolled his eyes and turned back to his magazine. “They’re _your_ friends.” 

Spencer frowned, and that made his head hurt worse. “My friends?” he asked, but Brent had already put his ear bud back in. 

On his way down the hall, Spencer cast a longing look at the door to his bedroom. He’d abandoned it a half-hour earlier when it had become clear that the fight wasn’t going to end anytime soon. His normal refuge—turning up his iPod and rolling over—wasn’t doing much good in light of his current headache situation. 

“Guys,” he snapped, opening the door without knocking, and glared through his bangs. The two of them were standing close together in the centre of the room, and Spencer couldn’t tell if they were about to start hitting each other, or start kissing. “It’s two fucking a.m.” 

Ryan crossed his arms, expression pissy, but at least Brendon had the good grace to look ashamed. “We were just discussing the importance of artistic integrity,” Ryan said, and Brendon rolled his eyes. 

“Well, can you save it for the fucking studio?” Spencer grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Brendon said, “of course.” Spencer felt a little bad for waiting so long to come in, when it was clear that Brendon didn’t even want to be having this argument. 

He gave Spencer a strange, urgent sort of look and what with hearing his own heartbeat doing a drum solo against his temple, it took Spencer a second to catch on. 

“Um, Brendon, why don’t you crash with Brent tonight?” he said. Brendon practically deflated with relief and ducked out of the room. 

“God,” Ryan said, “he’s such a fucking child.” 

Spencer was trying very hard not to take sides in this whole debacle because, well, it wasn’t that he didn’t understand Ryan’s artistic drive, but it was clear that Brendon was busting his fucking ass to give Ryan everything he wanted. 

Only Brendon was an annoying asshole and Ryan was Spencer’s best friend, so it was just easier to shut up and let them deal with it themselves. Except when it was two a.m. and Spencer was the lucky one who got to talk to Pete when the neighbours complained to management about the noisy teenagers. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “I guess.” 

Ryan snorted and flopped back on his bed. “You guess? Spence, we’ve been given this amazing chance. Pete Wentz signed us. He believes in us. And Brendon’s just fucking around. How are we supposed to make it if he won’t take this seriously?” 

Spencer thought about how Brendon had stopped drinking warm milk before bed because it messed with his vocal chords, even though it was something his mother had always done for him when he was stressed and one tiny piece of home he’d clung to since being kicked out. 

He thought about all the gross shit Brendon did, with salt and raw lemons, just because he said it would help him sound better. He thought about how Brendon would go through dozens of takes that sounded _exactly the fucking same_ to Spencer, until Ryan was pleased. 

He didn’t bring any of it up. 

“I’ve got a fucking headache,” he said, and got under the covers on Brendon’s bed. 

Ryan huffed an annoyed sigh, but thankfully didn’t try to keep the argument going. It was seriously for the best, because with Brent’s weird comment about Ryan and Brendon being _Spencer’s_ friends and having to deal with Ryan’s diva attitude and Brendon’s kicked puppy feelings, he was about ready to snap. 

When they’d been kids, dreaming about the day they’d get big, this was never how Spencer had imagined it. He’d thought it would be fun—big hotel rooms, fancy cars, lots of hot girls. He hadn’t imagined being stuffed into a dump of a two bedroom apartment with three other guys, living on shitty take out, and having to be the support beam that kept his band together—or at least kept them from killing each other. The stress was kinda turning him into a bitch. 

* 

The next day was Saturday, which didn’t necessarily mean a day off. Since they’d arrived in Maryland, they’d been working six day weeks, and even sometimes on Sundays, too. Mostly they didn’t complain (though sometimes Brent just didn’t show up), since they knew the sooner they got done, the sooner they could move on to more exciting aspects of their imminent stardome. Like touring. 

Spencer woke up after five hours of sleep and his headache had morphed into a low-grade, dull thrum of pain at the base of his skull. They spent most of the morning at the studio and when Spencer came back from laying down some new tracks, it was to find Brendon and Ryan at it again in the mixing room. 

Brent muttered about how they should just fuck each other already, and like, yeah. Right? It made sense, with all the unresolved tension between them, but just the suggestion made Spencer want to punch Brent really fucking hard in the face. 

Someone had called Pete to complain about it, not that Spencer could blame them. Pete told them to take the rest of the weekend off and try to blow off some steam. Spencer could tell that the producer wasn’t happy about it, but whatever. It might put them slightly behind schedule, but it was better than their lead guitarist murdering their lead vocalist. 

As soon as they got back to the apartment, Ryan grabbed a notebook and stormed out, saying he was going on a walk. Brent hunkered down in his bedroom with his cell phone. Brendon looked seriously unhappy, but he tried to smile when Spencer found him in the living room. 

“Brent’s being lame,” Spencer said. “But I asked some of the guys at the studio and they said that on Saturdays there’s this thing at the Inner Harbour. Free music, food booths, games. Sorta like a festival.” 

“Yeah?” Brendon said, perking up around the edges, eyes bright. 

Spencer’s stomach flipped a little unpleasantly and he realised that last night at dinner was the last time he’d had food. “You wanna come?” 

Brendon beamed at him and it made Spencer a little uncomfortable, how much Brendon wore his emotions on his sleeve. “Spencer Smith, it is a date.” 

“Shut up,” Spencer mumbled. “I just invited you since Ryan took off.” 

“Oh,” Brendon said, and that seemed to take that ridiculous smile of his down several notches. 

_Whatever_ , Spencer thought. It was Brendon’s own stupid fault for saying shit like that. A date. Yeah right. Like anyone would want to date someone as obnoxious as Brendon. 

It was near sunset when they got to the harbour and there was a jazz band playing. Brendon forgot all about pouting in the face of jazz, apparently. They didn’t have a lot of money, so they just got a hotdog each and an order of fries and lemonade to share, then sat near the back of the amphitheatre. 

Usually, you couldn’t pay Brendon to shut up, but for once he seemed content to just sit still and listen. Spencer was thankful; his headache had mostly dissipated and they were far enough back from the speakers that the music was more of a background noise than an assault on their eardrums. 

Following the jazz band there was an orchestra doing a bunch of famous movie themes, then a local choir doing a bunch of oldies. They lay down on the grass after eating, feet to head, and Spencer tried not to notice how close Brendon was lying, or how his arm brushed Spencer’s hip whenever he shifted. 

After the sun had set completely, a local band came on, doing some of their original stuff. The singer wasn’t the greatest, but the lyrics were awesome, sometimes bordering on hysterical, and the crowd _loved_ them. Something about them being from Maryland, maybe. 

“It’s too bad we didn’t get to have that,” Brendon remarked. 

“What?” Spencer snapped. He didn’t mean to always sound so annoyed, but it had become his default, as of late. 

Brendon propped himself up on his elbows, frowning down at his feet. “Just. You know, like touring around Nevada, building a fan base.” 

Spencer snorted. “There _is_ nowhere to tour in Nevada. And are you seriously complaining about getting signed?” 

“No,” Brendon said, frown deepening. “That’s not what I meant. Just, like, they sound like they’re having fun, and maybe they’re not perfect, but they’re enjoying what they do, and the crowd loves them, and like. You know what, maybe being famous isn’t as important as loving what you do.” 

“But we’re gonna get to do both. Get famous doing what we love,” Spencer said. 

“Yeah,” Brendon said. Then he laughed, and sprung to his feet. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” He wandered a few feet away, kicking at the grass. 

Spencer turned his attention back to the music, resolute. He was not going to cater to Brendon’s weird mood swings. He dealt with that enough with Ryan. 

Without Brendon pressed up close to him, Spencer’s whole right side felt cold, and then the band changed to some stupid country band, and that was the _only reason_ Spencer got up and followed Brendon to where he was pacing down by the railing at the water’s edge. 

“Wanna get some ice cream?” Spencer asked. He’d seen Brendon eyeing the stand earlier. 

Brendon looked in that direction now, then back out at the water taxis lighting up the harbour. “Can’t. It’ll fuck with my voice.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and kicked at the railing. “You don’t have to sing again ‘til Monday. I think you’ll be fine.” 

“I _can’t_ ,” Brendon insisted. And now he was just being a stubborn bitch. Spencer grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the stand. “Ryan will flip,” Brendon said. 

“Ryan doesn’t need to know,” Spencer said. He really shouldn’t be eating ice cream either. He’d been losing weight lately, and it was a trend he wanted to keep up. Still, he ordered a strawberry pistachio for Brendon and a single scoop of mint chocolate chip for himself. Solidarity in rule-breaking, or something. 

Brendon tried to look petulant about it when Spencer shoved the cone at him, but there was a smile tugging at his lips when he began to eat. They walked along the main stretch of food booths and the occasional carnival game as they ate. 

Brendon kept trying to loop his arm through Spencer’s and Spencer had to keep scowling and batting him away, taking exaggerated steps to the side. Brendon was smiling about it, like it was a fucking game, or something, and Spencer didn’t know how to get across the point that this touching thing was not okay, short of, like, actually _hurting_ Brendon. 

“Hey, check it out,” Brendon said, pointing towards the science museum. There were a bunch of little coin operated machines outside—little kiddie rides, test the strength of your grip, weigh yourself, that sort of thing. Brendon rushed over to them and Spencer followed more sedately. 

“It’s like the one in _Big_ ,” Brendon said. He was standing in front of a fortune telling machine that didn’t look anything like the one from _Big_. For one thing, the fortune teller was a woman dressed like a gypsy, and for another she was painted onto the background, rather than being a mechanical puppet thing. 

“You need your fortune told?” Spencer asked. He maybe sounded a little derisive about it. 

“Hey, what would be so wrong with that?” Brendon asked. He looked sort of wistful and sad. “Maybe if I could see it was all going to work out in the end.” 

“Yeah, sorry Brendon, but I don’t even Zoltar could help you grow up.” 

It was…even as Spencer spoke the words, he knew he shouldn’t, knew that his tone was all wrong. He didn’t _mean_ for it to come out the way it did. But even as Brendon’s face fell, Spencer couldn’t make himself take the words back, or try to make them better. 

Brendon laughed, this awful sound that made Spencer’s stomach sour. “Sometimes I’m so stupid,” he said. “I forget you’re Ryan Ross’ best friend.” 

“Brendon,” Spencer said. 

“No,” Brendon said. “You’re right.” He spun on his heel, heading back the way they’d come, pushing through the crowd. 

“Come on Brendon,” Spencer said, and Brendon glanced over his shoulder at him. “We can’t really afford two separate taxi fares home.” 

Brendon turned fully around, gave Spencer a seriously hateful glare and said softly, “Fuck you, Spencer Smith.” He stormed off, making a few people double take at him in his wake. 

“Shit,” Spencer said. The lights of Madame Fornestra’s machine blinked blue and red at him unhelpfully. He’d sorta thought that graduating and moving halfway across the country to fulfil his _record contract_ would mean being an adult, but he felt every bit the stupid, inexperienced seventeen year old that he was. 

Maybe if he brought a fortune home for Brendon, he’d forgive him. Spencer wasn’t even sure why he was bothered about Brendon forgiving him, but he was. He fished around in his pocket for a couple quarters, which were precious currency at the recording studio when they’d been there twelve hours and Spencer was running on four hours of sleep and needed some caffeine from the soda machine on the first floor. Still, Spencer weighed caffeine against the look on Brendon’s face just now and shoved the quarters into the machine. 

He pressed the little green button on the front of the machine and the lights started flashing in a different pattern and a woman’s voice made these ridiculous spooky noises. “You seek your fortune,” she said. “Yes, I see great things in your future, great things!!! Look below for the answer to your question!” The lights flashed and lit up a little drop box, from which a card fell. 

Spencer bent to pick it up. The back was like a fancy playing card with intricate drawings. He flipped it over and frowned. It read: _Sorry, Duplex Closed_. Beneath was a string of letters that could have been a foreign language or could have been nonsense. Either way, what a serious fucking waste of fifty cents. 

There wasn’t a trash bin around, so he pocketed the card and headed back the way he’d come, hunting down a taxi. 

Ryan was sitting on the couch when Spencer came in. He looked happy and relaxed for the first time in over a week, so Spencer was cautiously pleased. “What’s up?” 

“I don’t know what you said to him,” Ryan said, “but whatever it was, you pissed him off enough that he’s not mad at me anymore, so, thanks. And he said he was ready to take this seriously and do what I needed him to do in the studio.” 

Spencer wanted to point out that since none of them even fucking _knew_ what Ryan wanted from Brendon in the studio, that might be impossible, but he didn’t feel like having two members of his band pissed off at him. “Maybe I should talk to him,” he said. 

Ryan waved a dismissive hand. “He said he was gonna shower, then sleep. Dude, he’ll get over it in the morning. It’s fucking _Brendon_. I swear, he’s got, like, a goldfish’s attention span.” 

“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” Spencer said. 

“Whatever,” Ryan said. “You’re the one who made him cry. I’m not even that bad.” 

Made him _cry_? Spencer refused to let his surprise show on his face. He shut himself up in his bedroom. Brent was playing his DS and he barely gave Spencer a second glance as Spencer started getting ready for bed. 

“Heard the lovebirds made up,” Brent said, and Spencer had to grit his teeth to keep from lashing out at him. Brent didn’t deserve it, and Spencer had no logical reason to get upset over hearing it. 

“Dude, when we’re on tour, there are going to have to be some rules about them doing it in the van or on the bus, or whatever,” Brent said. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Spencer said. He just managed to keep his voice level. “They aren’t sleeping with each other.” 

“Matter of time,” Brent said. He gave Spencer a weird look. “I never thought _you’d_ be a homophobe.” 

“I’m not a—they’re _not_ going to have sex,” Spencer said. 

Brent raised his eyebrows in the universal _okay, chill out dude_ manner and went back to his game. Spencer climbed into bed, but it felt like ages before he actually fell asleep. 

*

Spencer woke up gradually, aware of the distant thump of music and conversation. It sounded like one of their neighbours was throwing a party, only less obnoxious than usual. 

His headache was finally gone and he let himself just bask in the sunlight he could feel coming through the blinds. He could kind of tell it was late, which was nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten more than six hours of sleep. There was a heavy, lethargic feeling in his bones now, like he’d slept at least twelve. 

There was a splash of water, like someone jumping in a pool, from outside the window, and that made Spencer frown. He didn’t remember their dumpy apartment complex having a pool. Not to mention that it was still a little early in spring for swimming. 

Spencer opened his eyes, stood up so fast his head spun, and sat back down again heavily. “What the…” 

The room was nothing like the one he’d fallen asleep in. The walls were a cheerful yellow with some nicely framed photography hung across from the bed. The bed, singular. Which was queen sized, with a soft down comforter and a lot nicer mattress than the crummy twin sized bed Spencer had gone to sleep on. 

“Guys,” Spencer called, voice sounding weak to his own ears. “What’s the joke?” 

No one answered. Spencer got cautiously to his feet again and turned around, taking the whole room in. There was a closet open on the far wall with nothing inside and two other doors besides. It looked pretty plain and generic, like a hotel room or a guest bedroom. 

The window offered a view of the side of the house. It was later than he’d thought; the sun low in the sky, close to setting. He could just see the fence of the backyard where there was a party going on, but none of the people looked familiar. Neither did the house next door, nor the neighbourhood beyond. There were palm trees, for one thing…

He tried the first door and found a nice sized bathroom, sparkling clean in an unused sort of way. He took a deep breath before trying the other door. The hallway was still and empty, leading to a staircase at one end and opening into a living room at the other. 

In the living room, there were a half-dozen people Spencer had never seen before in his life, playing some weird video game that involved swinging the controller around. If he weren’t currently so freaked out about his new surroundings, Spencer might have been curious to learn more about it. As it was, he was starting to get pissed off. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” he asked. 

One of the guys, sort of scruffy looking, with brown hair almost as long as Spencer’s, and in serious need of a wash, barely glanced up at him and said, “Oh hey dude. Rock Band battle in twenty. I just have to own Jake’s ass at tennis. He questioned my skills.” 

The guy swung his arm toward the television screen and gave Spencer a second, longer look. Spencer patted his hair down self-consciously; it had been a day or two since he’d had a shower. “Whoa, time warp.” He made an appreciative face. “I like the…” he rubbed at his own facial hair before turning back to the game. 

“Where’s my band?” Spencer demanded, crossing his arms. He felt weirdly exposed after the way the guy had looked at him and noticed he was still wearing his pjs—sweats that were so big since he’d lost weight that they were practically falling off his hips, and tiny pink shirt of Ryan’s that showed off too much stomach for Spencer to be wearing it around a bunch of strangers. 

No one seemed to mark Spencer’s question and he huffed an annoyed breath, about to ask again, when one of the guys on the couch waved a distracted hand. “He’s in the backyard.” 

When no one else seemed to care to contribute any further, Spencer headed towards the sound of the party, turning that over in his head. _He’s in the back yard_. What was that supposed to mean? 

On his way through the kitchen he passed a gathering of people with plastic cups that smelled strongly of vodka, dressed in a wide variety of strange outfits, from cocktail dresses to bikinis. 

“Hey Spence, thought you were out getting more booze,” one of the girls said. Spencer stared at her and she stared back. Then she frowned. “Did you…” She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. “Did you…change, or something?” 

“I—I don’t drink,” Spencer said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t be seriously impolite. He hurried on through the kitchen to the open French doors, spilling out onto the back deck. 

The back yard was the main scene of the party. There was a guy manning a huge grill on the deck and a girl behind a wet bar, serving colourful mixed drinks. The music was pretty cool, but unfamiliar, pouring from speakers Spencer couldn’t see. People were milling over the nicely groomed lawn, lounging in scattered chairs, wading in the huge pool. 

Spencer went to the edge of the patio, looking out in the sea of strange faces. There were a few people that looked vaguely familiar, like maybe he’d met them at a party one time, but couldn’t remember where or when, let alone their names. Then, towards the back corner he saw Pete with some red-headed girl and a baby. 

A little bit of the creeping fear Spencer had felt since waking up slipped away. He didn’t know Pete all that well, but well enough to feel comforted by his presence (well, when it mattered). Also, he’d spent some time with Fall Out Boy, and this sort of weird prank, moving him while he was sleeping, didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility with them. 

But seriously, who trusted Pete Wentz with a baby? 

Spencer hurried down from the deck and stopped halfway across the lawn when he heard Brendon. He hadn’t noticed him from the deck, but here he was, standing with a couple strangers and their wrangler, Zack. There was something…off about Brendon, and Spencer couldn’t quite place it. 

Or maybe it was that there were lots of little things off about him. For one thing, he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he didn’t look as skinny, which might have had something to do with his drastically different wardrobe. His jeans weren’t skin tight and actually looked like they might have been made for a guy, and he was wearing a pink and white striped button down shirt. 

Maybe it was the hair, which just looked…nicer, somehow, that made his face look slightly different, too. He looked. More mature, or something. And he was holding a beer bottle casually in his hand. 

“Brendon,” Spencer said, in a stern tone of voice, because if Ryan saw him with a beer bottle, there was going to be hell to pay. 

“Spencer,” Brendon said, and his face just lit up. “You were fast.” He stopped and looked Spencer up and down, the bright smile turning into something…predatory that made Spencer’s insides twist up with sick anticipation. 

“Spence,” Brendon said again, and took a step closer, and then another, his hips doing this weird slinking thing that made Spencer want to step back, but froze him in place at the same time. 

Zack muttered something under his breath and he and the other two guys and girl just sorta disappeared back into the party. Brendon didn’t even spare them a glance, coming to a stop bare inches from Spencer’s chest. 

Up close, Spencer could smell beer and…was that _weed_? He opened his mouth to start his lecture and Brendon closed that last distance between them, looping an arm around Spencer’s neck and drawing him down into a kiss. 

If Spencer had asked himself ten seconds ago how he’d react to Brendon Urie kissing him, the answer would have been punch him, but apparently, he would have been wrong. Instead, he felt paralysed as Brendon pressed in close, his other hand falling on Spencer’s hip. His fingers tickled over Spencer’s bare skin with a sort of familiarity that made tingles shoot down Spencer’s spine. 

Or maybe that was Brendon’s tongue, lapping gently at Spencer’s bottom lip before licking over his palate. Spencer couldn’t stop the rough moan that tore out of his throat when Brendon bit down hard on Spencer’s lip and his fingers dipped past the loose waistline of Spencer’s sweatpants. 

Spencer jerked back like he’d been electrocuted, shoving Brendon away as hard as he could. Brendon stumbled back a few steps before he caught himself and he didn’t seem very fazed by it. He came close again, looping both arms around Spencer’s neck this time and holding on tight. 

“You’re drunk,” Spencer said, trying, unsuccessfully, to get Brendon off of him. 

“Mmm,” Brendon agreed. He nuzzled into Spencer’s neck and Spencer felt himself going hard. 

“There are…people, you’re fucking…did you smoke _weed_?” Spencer stuttered, because honestly, he didn’t know where to begin. 

“Just a little. Laura is in with Carmen,” Brendon said. “I saved you some, grouchy pants, Jesus.” He tipped his face back and went up on his toes for another kiss. 

Spencer turned his head to the side. “Would you—there are people—would you _stop kissing me_.”

“I can’t help it,” Brendon said, and laughed. His voice was different, too. It made Spencer’s skin crawl, made him want to give into Brendon’s tugging hands and let Brendon kiss him. “You’re all…jailbait-y—with the shaved face and the hair. It’s fucking hot. God, I wanna fuck you so bad. No one will notice if we’re gone for a while.” 

Spencer could feel his eyes going wide with horror and maybe arousal, but seriously, _what the fuck_. “Get _off_ of me,” Spencer said, and he didn’t even shove very hard, but maybe it was something in his voice, because Brendon dropped his arms and took a step back. 

“Spence,” Brendon said warily. 

“You need to…sober up. And put that goddamned bottle down. What if Ryan sees you.” 

Brendon gave Spencer an unreadable look and bit his bottom lip in thought. “Okay,” Brendon said. He shook his head once, and suddenly didn’t look nearly as drunk. “Are we playing some weird game here?” 

“You tell me,” Spencer said, crossing his arms and tilting his hips. Brendon’s eyes went a little glassy for a second, looking at him. 

Then he shook himself. “Okay,” he said again. “I’ll play. What would happen if Ryan saw me? Well. I guess he’d have to be here, in the first place. Is this a trick question?” Suddenly, Brendon’s face fell. “Oh God. There aren’t more coke pictures, are there?” 

Spencer felt his mouth working, but couldn’t make any sound come out. He wouldn’t know where to begin. Brendon watched him, and something in his face changed. 

“Spence,” Brendon said, and there was concern and confusion and something else. “What happen—” he stopped and took Spencer gently but firmly by the wrist and began dragging him back towards the house. 

They passed Pete and the girl on the way back and was that _Ashlee Simpson_? “Hey,” Pete said, and then gave Spencer a head to toe appraisal and arched his brows. 

“’Pence, Bden. Wanna play with Carmen,” the baby—maybe toddler, Spencer wasn’t good at telling that sort of thing—in Pete’s arms said and reached out his arms for Spencer. Ashlee fucking Simpson gave Spencer a warm smile and Spencer did not think there was enough _what the fuck_ in the world for this moment. 

“We’ll have to play later, Bronxy,” Brendon said, and leaned in to give the baby an Eskimo kiss. “Spence isn’t feeling so good.” 

“I kiss it better,” Bronxy said, and jerked around in Pete’s arms. Pete sat him down on the ground. The kid looked bigger on his own feet, and tottered forward to place a kiss somewhere around Spencer’s knee. 

“Th—thanks, Bronxy,” Spencer said, and tried to return the smile Ashlee gave him. Pete gave Brendon a sort of ‘is everything okay’ smile and Brendon smiled tightly back, before tugging Spencer away again. 

Brendon was silent as he led Spencer back into the house, up a staircase, and into a huge master bedroom. Spencer had a moment to look around—king sized bed left unmade, the bedside tables scattered with books and, he blushed, a box of condoms, mostly tidy room save a few pieces of clothing lying about—before Brendon let him go, closed the door, and turned on him. 

“Okay, what the fuck?” Brendon said, crossing his arms. 

“Um,” Spencer said dumbly, and then nothing else for a long minute, because he couldn’t _think_ of anything else. “I think I should be asking that,” he finally settled on. 

“No, seriously, Spence, there’s a time for role-playing, and while I’m seriously digging the new look, don’t get me wrong, it’s the attitude that’s throwing me off here.” 

Brendon sounded hurt, and Spencer didn’t know how he was always making that happen, only that it wasn’t his fault this time. Brendon had kissed _him_. “You _kissed_ me,” Spencer said, and instantly felt like kicking himself. 

“I don’t want to play this game any more, Spencer,” Brendon said. He looked torn between anger and sadness and paced back and forth in front of the bed. He paused and took a step toward Spencer and Spencer couldn’t help but step back. Brendon sighed in frustration. “You’re acting like a fucking—like a goddamned teenager, what the hell, Spencer?” 

There was honest distress in Brendon’s voice, like he couldn’t understand any of this, and Spencer could relate, but didn’t know how to make it any better. “I _am_ a teenager, and so are you, what the fuck,” Spencer said defensively. 

“What are you—what happened?” Brendon asked, looking frantic. 

Spencer shook his head and stepped back again, his knees hitting the mattress. He jumped and skittered to the side, but Brendon didn’t try to come any closer this time. They stared at each other, and in the silence, Spencer could hear someone coming up the stairs. 

“Hey,” a voice said, just outside the door. “Shane said he thought he saw you coming up here. What’s going—” 

The door swung open all the way and Spencer felt his jaw drop, staring at some warped mirror image. It _was_ him, except a bit taller and more muscular, with shorter hair and a fucking _beard_. His own bright blue eyes were staring back at him in amazement. 

“Spence,” Brendon whispered, and then he was across the room, arms around the other Spencer’s neck. The other Spencer held him distractedly, still staring. “Shit, I was freaking out. I thought you’d gotten in an accident, or something. I thought you had fucking amnesia. Why didn’t you _tell_ me you had like, an identical cousin? Fuck.” 

Brendon turned back to Spencer, contrite expression on his face. “I’m so sorry, I thought…Oh shit.” 

“I’m not his cousin,” Spencer said, the same time the other him said, “I _don’t_ have an identical cousin.” 

Spencer closed his eyes, not before noticing the casual way his other self was stroking the back of Brendon’s neck. “When, uh, you said, about Ryan…What did you mean, more coke pictures?” 

Neither of them answered him and Spencer opened his eyes to see Brendon gone white and the other Spencer pointedly not looking at him. “Where the fuck am I? What is this? What day—what year?” 

“Look, uh, Spencer?” the other Spencer asked, and Spencer nodded.

Brendon said, “Holy fuck,” and stumbled over to the bed, sitting down heavily. “Shit, you look like you’re fucking sixteen.” 

“Seventeen,” Spencer snapped. 

“Holy fuck. I made out with a kid…” Brendon cast an anxious look at the other Spencer, who looked back cluelessly. 

“How old are you?” Spencer asked the other him. 

“Twenty-three,” he answered. 

“Are we still a band?” Spencer asked. He was scared by how soft and uncertain his voice came out. 

Older Spencer nodded slowly and looked to Brendon. Brendon cleared his throat. “We’re. You and I are a. We’re still Panic! at the Disco,” he said. 

“We are?” Spencer said. 

Older Spencer came further into the room and Spencer took a step back because he was frankly a little concerned about what happened if they got too close to each other. But Older Spencer just sat down next to Brendon, fumbling until their hands were linked together. 

“Jon and Ryan left,” Brendon said softly. “They, um, we wanted to go different directions with the music, and well, our personal lives…We’re still friends. We get together sometimes.” 

Older Spencer seemed to notice something in Spencer’s face, because he added, “We parted ways with Brent pretty early on. He just wasn’t as into it.” 

Which wasn’t a surprise, really, but still made Spencer feel sad and lonely and confused and how could Ryan want to go in a musical direction different from Spencer? And their personal lives… “So, is this your house?” he asked Brendon. 

Brendon looked at Older Spencer and the two of them shrugged. “It’s _our_ house,” Older Spencer said, gesturing between Brendon and himself. “We used to share it with Shane, but it’s just us, now, and—”

“How did you…get here?” Brendon asked, interrupting. 

“I don’t know,” Spencer said and threw his hands in the air. “Seriously, I, I think I must be dreaming or hallucinating or something, like what the fuck? I went to bed last night in Maryland and now this.” 

“Wow,” Older Spencer said. “Maryland. Fuck, that seems like a million years ago. 

Brendon nodded in agreement, rubbing his face. “We need to get everyone out of here,” he said. “Pete would. If he saw the two of you together, I don’t even know. I just don’t want to see it. He’s already suspicious.” 

“We can’t kick everyone out!” Older Spencer said. He looked at Spencer. “We just finished our tour promoting our third record. It’s a welcome home sort of thing from our friends. Who decided to graciously throw it at our own place for us...” 

“We have a lot of friends,” Spencer said weakly. 

“I’ll enlist Ryland and Alex when they show up. Give it a few hours, and I’m sure we can manage to convince everyone to move the party downtown, or something,” Older Spencer said. 

“And we just leave him up here in the meantime?” Brendon asked, casting a strange look Spencer’s direction. 

“I can take care of myself,” Spencer said, scowling. 

“God,” Brendon said, and buried his face in Older Spencer’s shoulder. “I forgot how hot you were when you were a pissy lesbian.” Spencer made an indignant sound, and Older Spencer punched Brendon in the arm, but he laughed, all the same. 

“Look, Spence, you can’t go back down there,” Brendon said. “Everyone just saw mini-you running around all shaved in _those pants_.” Brendon gave Spencer another lingering look as he spoke and Spencer crossed his arms low over his stomach, feeling sort of naked under Brendon’s gaze. 

Older Spencer nudged Brendon and Brendon jumped guiltily. “Right, sorry,” he said, and looked at his knees. 

“Anyway,” Brendon said, “I’ll go take care of things downstairs and while I’m sure mini-you can take care of himself, this way you can answer any questions he has.” 

“Quit calling me that,” Spencer growled at the same time Older Spencer said, “Stop saying that.” 

Brendon grinned at the both of them. “This is…whatever else this is, it is fucking hilarious.” 

“I am seriously doubting your ability to get everyone out of the house without raising suspicion,” Older Spencer said wisely. 

“Oh ye of little faith,” Brendon said, and got to his feet. “You just entertain…yourself, and try not to alter the timeline too much, or whatever, and I’ll be back in no time.” 

“Why am I filled with a sudden sense of foreboding,” Spencer asked himself after Brendon had gone and shut the door after him. 

Older Spencer shrugged. “You know Brendon too well,” he suggested. He looked over at Spencer, a small frown between his brows. “So,” he said, and clapped his hands. “What—uh—what else do you wanna know?” 

“Aren’t you worried about what Brendon said, about messing up the timeline?” Spencer asked. 

“What,” Older Spencer said. “You want us to lock you up in the spare bedroom and not tell you shit, and just hope that you get back to your own time? Besides, I think you’ve seen and heard enough by now. We’ll just have to hope for the best when you go back. I’m not too worried. I don’t remember any time travelling incidents in my teenaged years. Maybe you’ll forget it.” He looked suddenly excited. “Maybe you’re from an alternate timeline!” 

Spencer shrugged, and privately wondered when he’d become a sort of geek. Probably came from living with Brendon. “I guess,” he said, and anyway, he was curious. “So, this house is pretty nice. I guess we do well for ourselves?” 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Older Spencer said, chuckling. “The first record’s sold over two million copies, and the second one debuted at number two on the U.S. charts. Third one was number one for a few weeks. Our fans can get kinda crazy, though.” 

“Crazy?” Spencer echoed. 

“Like…I don’t want to scar you, man. But some of the signs they make are, wow, and Zack had to write this whole ‘don’t be creepy’ speech for when we have meet and greets.” 

Spencer laughed. “That actually sounds cool.” 

Older Spencer gave him a conspiratorial smile. “It can be pretty awesome. When they aren’t trying to roofie you.” 

“Seriously?” Spencer asked. “I have chicks trying to roofie me.” 

“It isn’t as cool as it sounds,” Older Spencer said, with a grimace. “I’ve been lucky enough to avoid it, but Jon and Ryan once ate a batch of cookies. That was seriously fucking wrong, let me tell you.” 

Spencer tried to smile, but thinking about Ryan, and how they apparently weren’t together in a band anymore made him sick to his stomach. “So,” he said, and cast about for a change of subject. “Just got back from tour?” 

“Yeah, finally,” Older Spencer said. “It was pretty rough, this time, what with the…yeah.” 

Spencer pulled a face, but didn’t press him any further. “If Ryan left, who’s writing all your lyrics and stuff?” 

“Me and Brendon,” Older Spencer said in a ‘duh’ tone of voice. “I mean, Brendon does most of the lyrics, and the guitar and piano and stuff, though he usually gives me veto privilege. We recorded everything ourselves, but we have a couple friends who come along for tours to help out.” 

“Brendon writes the lyrics?” Spencer asked. He was dubious. Brendon could barely compose a coherent text message. 

“He writes really awesome lyrics,” Older Spencer said. “It’s part of why we went our separate ways, from Jon and Ryan. Brendon wrote a couple songs for the second CD and Ryan kept talking about them like they were…silly, or something, but I liked them. 

“Then it came time to start thinking about the third album and me and Brendon were writing some songs together and Ryan didn’t want to include them. Our songs are more…pop-y, I guess. Ryan and Jon were experimenting with a sort of retro sound, which we explored on the second album, and me and Brendon wanted to go more with the sound of _Fever_ , so we split up.” 

Spencer got the impression there was something his older self wasn’t telling him about the whole thing. “Seriously,” Older Spencer said. “Let me show you.” 

Older Spencer opened up a laptop laying beside the bed and powered it up. He played a few songs from their second album and a couple from the new one, and while Spencer thought there was an obvious difference between Ryan’s lyrics and Brendon’s, it wasn’t a _bad_ difference. And he did like the stuff from this third album better than the stuff from the second, strictly from a drummer’s perspective. 

Mostly, though, he had a little trouble focussing on anything once he’d seen the wallpaper on the computer—a picture of him and Brendon at some red carpet event. Brendon had his arms linked around one of Spencer’s, his head on Spencer’s shoulder and his eyes were closed, a blissful expression on his face. Spencer was smiling indulgently. 

“So, you and Brendon,” Spencer said. 

Older Spencer arched a brow. “What about me and Brendon?” 

“He, uh, kissed me, earlier,” Spencer mumbled. 

“Oh,” Older Spencer said. He was blushing over his cheekbones. “Uh, sorry about that. He gets affectionate when he’s drunk.” 

“Right,” Spencer said. He _hated_ it when adults lied to him and thought he couldn’t tell. It was worse when the adult was _him_.

Brendon came in at that moment, grinning ear to ear. “I am a genius!” he crowed. “Everyone should be heading out soon. Dillon and Zack absconded with the booze and Pete offered to move everything over to his casa, so…” 

Older Spencer gave Brendon a look. “Okay, so maybe Pete’s a little suspicious,” Brendon said, “but he can’t prove anything. He did say we owed him a video tape, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he knows. You know, that’s just Pete.” He shrugged. “So, now we can bring you out of hiding.” 

“You wanna shower, first?” Older Spencer offered, giving Spencer a once over. Spencer would be offended except his hair was getting a bit greasy and he could smell himself and not in a good way. “Everyone should be gone by the time you get out.” 

“Do you have something else I could wear?” Spencer asked, picking at his sweats. Brendon was staring again, licking his lips. 

Older Spencer looked at his younger self and then at Brendon and rolled his eyes. “You might be better off in something of his,” he said. “You’re pretty tiny. I can’t remember ever being that tiny.” 

Spencer scowled and Brendon laughed in a nervous, guilty way. He went to one of the dressers and fished out a pair of drawstring pants and an oversized tee. They gave him a huge, fluffy towel and told him to use whatever he wanted in the shower, then left him to his own devices. 

The bathroom was off the fucking hook. It was seriously bigger than Brendon’s old apartment, with a walk in shower with a fucking ledge to sit on and a Jacuzzi bathtub and two toilets set aside in their own private little alcoves with sinks and everything. 

At the apartment they were always running out of hot water before everyone could shower, and sometimes Spencer was so tired after a day of recording that he didn’t even want to fight over his turn. This was awesome, just standing under the hot water. The shower spray was adjustable and there was a massage setting that just pounded all the pain right out of his back. Spencer couldn’t wait to be rich. 

It was really embarrassing, but Spencer had been feeling a low level of arousal ever since Brendon had kissed him. It had been a really long time since Spencer had kissed anyone. What with the band and busting his ass to finish school early, and then spending all his time with his bandmates, recording, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity. 

Spencer liked to keep his bandmates out of his fantasy life (yes, even Ryan Ross, that time when they were twelve and thirteen and for three months Spencer couldn’t be around him without staring at Ryan’s fingers and he was sure Ryan could hear how loud and fast his heart was beating). 

Usually it was easy when it came to Brendon, because what was there about Brendon, anyway? Certainly not the way his mouth had looked, after they’d kissed, or the way his fingers had played over Spencer’s skin, or the way his new jeans, even though they were looser, still accentuated his ass. 

Spencer let out a groan and shoved the thoughts aside. Instead, he opened his eyes and stared at the plain, frosted glass of the shower door and resolutely didn’t think about anything, jerking himself off as fast as he could. 

By the time he’d finished, dried off, and dressed, it seemed the party had well and truly died down. He left his dirty clothes on top of the clothes hamper in the bathroom and ventured out. The lights in the bedroom were off, but the hall light was on, and Spencer cautiously retraced the path Brendon had led earlier, finding the stairs. 

The living room was empty though the television was on some nature channel documentary. For the first time, Spencer noticed a few details about the room, beyond the huge entertainment system and really expensive looking furniture. Scattered among the empty beer bottles and paper plates was a baby bottle and a couple containers of baby food. In the corner there was a little baby gym and a few toys that looked like they’d been shoved hastily aside. 

And alright, Spencer knew it was cool enough that Pete’s number was programmed into his phone, and that he had a recording contract and all that jazz. But it was seriously awesome to know that someday, he was going to be a babysitter for the child of Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson. 

In his ridiculously nice house. 

Which he shared with Brendon. 

It wasn’t that he was particularly opposed to living with Brendon. He’d crashed at Brendon’s apartment lots of times, and if he was going to be honest, he preferred sharing a room with Brendon to sharing with Ryan or Brent. Brent snored and Ryan liked to keep Spencer up late listening to himself speak. Brendon did neither, and he was pretty good at telling when Spencer was getting annoyed or pissed off, and shutting up and going to bed in accordance. 

Still, if they were so successful and had so much money, why didn’t they each have their own place? 

He heard voices coming from the kitchen and couldn’t help eavesdropping. He stayed close to the wall and kept quiet, listening. People were more honest when they didn’t know you were listening. 

“—I supposed to know?” Brendon was saying. 

“You’re the one who was a genius at science,” Older Spencer said. 

“Right,” Brendon said, and Spencer could just imagine his amused expression, “because everyone knows the first thing you learn in AP physics is all about time travel.” 

“Maybe it’s some form of hysteria,” Older Spencer said. “Maybe we’re so stressed out from the tour and Carmen and no sleep and everything that we’re hallucinating it.” 

Brendon huffed a chuckle. “Except that Pete and Shane and everyone saw him, too. They were all commenting on your new look, and I have to say…”

“You’re such a pervert,” Older Spencer said. “He’s a fucking kid.” 

“Whatever,” Brendon said. “Like you wouldn’t think the same thing if seventeen year old me walked in.” 

“Because that would be different from now, how?” Older Spencer teased. Brendon made an affronted sound. “We’ll just put you in a pair of apple bottom jeans and borrow a shirt from Laura.” 

“I could do that,” Brendon purred, and the sound of it made Spencer shift uncomfortably, tugging on his pants. Brendon wasn’t supposed to _sound_ like that. There was silence for a moment and Spencer peeked in. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was, to see Brendon crowding an older version of himself against the counter, hands on Spencer’s hips. Spencer looked happy and amused, tilting his head down to meet Brendon in a slow kiss. 

Spencer felt his heart pick up and his knees go weak. Yeah, he’d been on the receiving end of Brendon’s kiss, but this was different. More intimate, somehow, watching the ease and familiarity between them. 

The other Spencer brought a hand up to card through Brendon’s hair and Brendon moaned and went up on his toes. Spencer saw a flash of tongue between them, watched himself pull back from Brendon just enough to rest their foreheads together. 

“I’m not shaving,” Older Spencer said, with a fond smile. 

“I’m not saying on, like, a regular basis. You know, just for a couple weeks,” Brendon cajoled. He rolled his hips against Spencer’s, a teasing smile on his lips and gave him another quick peck on the lips before stepping back. 

“I’m gonna go get Carmen and put the dogs out back for a bit,” Brendon said, glancing at the clock. 

“Tonight’s going to be a nightmare,” Spencer said. 

Brendon rubbed his forehead and looked tired and lot older all the sudden. “We’ll figure it out. It’s only been a couple days. The books say routine is good, and now’s a good time to start.” He laughed, but it sounded a little off. “And god, isn’t that going to be fun to explain…Anyway, I guess we can just heat up some of the burgers and shit for dinner. Show mini-you the fine gourmet dining he can look forward to as a rock star.” 

Spencer caught Brendon by the back of his jeans, hooking a finger in and drawing him close, wrapping his arms around Brendon from behind. It looked nice, and Spencer found himself wondering how his Brendon would fit in his arms. The height difference between them wasn’t as much as it was between these two. 

“Hey,” Spencer said, and tucked his chin against Brendon’s shoulder, rubbing his beard against the skin there. Brendon hummed in pleasure and stretched his neck to let Spencer closer. “Maybe, you know, when there aren’t any interviews for a few days. Just us.” 

Brendon smiled and turned his head to give Spencer a longer kiss, and when they parted, he said, “I love you.” 

“Me too,” Spencer said, and smacked Brendon on the ass when as he walked away. 

Spencer hurried back from the doorway, putting himself behind the couch before Brendon came in. He thought it looked kinda suspicious, but Brendon didn’t notice. “Hey,” he said, “feeling better?” 

Spencer shrugged. “Well, you know, I’m still six years in the future, so…”

Brendon laughed. “Yeah. Hey, wanna help me with the dogs? We locked ‘em up in the laundry room during the party, so I warn you that they will be very excited and affectionate.” 

“Sure,” Spencer said, and followed Brendon down yet another hallway. Seriously, this place was huge. There was a fancy dining room and another room that was pretty dark, but looked like an office, and at the end of the hallway, across from the laundry room, was the music room. Spencer could just make out the piano and the moonlight glinting on a drum kit. 

Herding the three dogs into the back yard was quite a task. They were, as Brendon promised, seriously affectionate, and didn’t seem to notice any difference between this Spencer and their owner Spencer. Brendon ended up luring them with treats and Spencer rounded them up from behind, catching the tiny brown and white one up in his arms. 

This Brendon looked so honestly happy, rolling around on the grass with his dogs, and Spencer couldn’t remember the last time his Brendon had looked the same way. He smiled all the time; he was Brendon. But it was easy to tell that his whole heart wasn’t in it. And then Spencer had to go around saying shitty things to make him feel even worse. Maybe, when all the recording stuff was over, he could surprise Brendon with a puppy…

“So, uh,” Brendon said, when they’d come back inside. He looked out at the dogs and bit his lip. “I know things here are sorta weird. Seeing yourself like…this…And, uh, they’re going to get weirder. So, I’d understand if you’d prefer to stay in the dark.” 

“Is this about Carmen?” Spencer asked. He’d heard the name said enough times now. 

Brendon looked startled. “Did…did Spence tell you already?” 

“No,” Spencer said. 

“Come on,” Brendon said, and led the way back down the hall and upstairs. This time they went through the closed door across the hall from the master bedroom. It was a nursery, done up in greens and yellows and a Noah’s ark theme. 

Brendon went to the crib and Spencer followed, heart speeding up again. “Whose is she?” he asked, looking down on her. 

The baby had brown eyes and thick, curly brown hair around a sweet, heart-shaped face. She was awake, kicking her feet, and when she saw them her face lit up and she rolled onto her stomach and sat up. 

“She’s my little baby, isn’t she?” Brendon asked, and Carmen bounced on her butt, reaching out for him. Brendon picked her up and Spencer knew that Brendon was good with kids—had to be, with his family, but there was something about the way he held her that just…fit. 

“She’s my _stinky_ baby,” he added, and swung her up in the air a little on his way to the changing table. 

Spencer hung back while Brendon changed her, feeling awkward and out of place. Carmen was babbling cheerfully, little syllables without meaning. “So, you had a girlfriend, or something?” he asked, looking at his feet and the cheerful animal rug beneath them. 

Brendon cast a look over his shoulder. “I’ve had a few,” he said. He snapped up Carmen’s onesie and picked her up again, putting her on his hip. “None of them are Carmen’s mother.” 

Carmen fisted Brendon’s hair and tugged, and Brendon made a face. “Dada,” she said, and tugged again. 

“Yeah, baby,” Brendon said. “We’ll go get your Daddy. Come on, mini-Spence.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Spencer said, and followed Brendon out. Carmen looked over Brendon’s shoulder and started struggling, saying “Dada” again and making a fussing noise, like she was about to start crying. 

Brendon frowned over his shoulder at Spencer and said, “Oh, no, baby,” and laughed at her. 

“Spencer and I talked about doing in vitro with a surrogate, but once we started looking in to it, we decided adoption was better. There are already so many kids out there without a home, you know, so. Yeah.” 

“You’re saying that me and you adopt a kid,” Spencer said. 

“I’m saying me and you adopted Carmen, and she’s the best baby in the _world_ ,” Brendon said, and bounced her a little. Carmen looked mutinous and strained her arms out toward Spencer. 

“What’s the matter, baby girl?” Brendon said. “You trying to prove me wrong to mini-Spencer?” He petted her hair and bounced her a bit more, humming something under his breath. 

“I—I just don’t understand,” Spencer snapped. “You and me. We don’t. I don’t think that way, and neither does Brendon. My Brendon. He’s straight. And so am I.” 

Brendon cast Spencer a mocking look. “Yeah, well, I can’t speak for you, I guess, but I can tell you that I was never straight. Confused, vaguely bi, maybe, but I never was straight. And it doesn’t really matter anymore, ‘cause Spence is it.” 

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that, except “nuh-uh,” and so it was probably for the best that they came into the kitchen and he was saved from having to say anything by Carmen tugging on Brendon’s hair again and screeching at the top of her lungs. 

“It’s my demon baby,” Older Spencer said, with mingled affection and obvious exhaustion. 

Brendon cringed and tried, unsuccessfully, to untangle Carmen’s fingers from his hair. “Would you mind,” he said, tone cranky. “She’s in one of her moods.” 

Older Spencer managed to get Carmen’s fingers out of Brendon’s hair by offering up some of his in exchange, and after that it was easy to shift the baby from Brendon’s arms to Spencer’s. Carmen quit screaming and Spencer leaned back against the counter and offered her a spoonful of orange goop. 

“I heated up burgers. They’re in the microwave, and I got out the fixings.” He jerked his head in the direction of the island, covered with cheese and ketchup and all that, three empty plates set out. 

Spencer stared at his older self, holding a fucking baby, and Brendon, who was futzing around in the drawers and finally came out with a bib to tie around Carmen’s neck. 

“Seriously?” he asked. “This is what we’ve become. We’re rock stars who spend the evening that was supposed to be our coming home party home alone eating old burgers and feeding a cranky baby?” 

“Kid, if you don’t like it, go back to your own wacky world and do it differently,” Older Spencer said wearily. “But leave my world alone. We’re _happy_ like this.” 

Brendon smiled a private little smile and Spencer felt weird and guilty in the way only his mother could make him feel. “Sorry,” he said. 

“I know it doesn’t look too exciting right now,” Brendon said. He started fixing up two plates, one for himself and one for his Spencer, and it was sorta weird watching Brendon make Spencer’s just right without having to be told. Of course, it wasn’t even remotely the weirdest thing so far, so, whatever. 

“But you gotta remember, we just got off tour. You’ll see soon enough, I know, but when you’re on the road, your schedule gets all fucked up. You have interviews starting at the crack of dawn and going through the day, sound check, meet and greets, performance, after parties…or there are days when you just sleep all day, but that fucks things up worse. Not that that happened very often this tour, with Carmen making sure we never got more than four hours of sleep at a time.” 

Brendon tickled her in the stomach and she spat a mouth full of orange into his face. Brendon licked his lips and said, “I love you, too, baby.” 

“So, yeah,” Brendon said. “The point is, when you get home, you just wanna chill for a few days. Especially now that we’re trying to get Carmen to sleep the whole night through.” As though she knew what he was saying, Carmen made a raspberry sound and Brendon nodded his head, as if he’d expected as much. 

Brendon carried his and his Spencer’s plates over to the table and Spencer followed with his own. The other Spencer brought over a few bottles of beer and the baby’s food, and sat down at Brendon’s side. Brendon gave him a look when he placed a bottle in front of Spencer. 

“You can’t give him that,” Brendon said. “He’s a kid.” 

“Yeah, well, you made out with him, so,” Older Spencer said, clearly trying to push Brendon’s buttons. 

Brendon huffed a sigh. “You don’t even want it, do you?” he asked Spencer. “I mean, you…you don’t drink _forever_. Almost as long as Ryan.” 

Spencer had never had any desire to drink beer. Mostly, he thought it sounded pretty foul, but he wasn’t opposed to it on principle, either. He’d stayed away as a sign of solidarity towards Ryan. Only Ryan, apparently, left the band and was doing coke, so. 

“I don’t know,” Spencer said, slouching in his chair. “If you guys like it now, then I probably will, too.” 

In honesty, the first sip was probably one of the most disgusting tastes Spencer had ever experienced, but he thought he covered his reaction pretty well. Until Brendon got up from the table and came back with a can of Sprite and sat it by Spencer’s plate. 

“Thanks,” Spencer said, and neither of them laughed at him. 

“So, when you aren’t on tour, and you aren’t…recovering or whatever, what do you guys do?” he asked, when things had been weirdly silent for a long few minutes. 

“Hang out with Pete and Ashlee a lot, and Shane and Regan. They’re really awesome. Shane’s done a lot of photo shoots and behind the scene videos and stuff,” Brendon said. Then he laughed. “He did this Fall Out Boy music video for us, where me and Spence carry Pete’s corpse all over the place, like _Weekend at Bernie’s_.”

Spencer arched a brow, because it sounded ridiculous, but at the same time, they were in a Fall Out Boy video. 

“I don’t remember always being so hard to impress,” Older Spencer muttered. 

Brendon laughed out loud and said, “I do.” 

Older Spencer said, “We don’t do a lot of the things you’d expect rock stars to do, I guess. Decaydance is like a family, you know, and I personally think it’s a lot cooler hanging out with all our friends doing stupid shit like surfing or going to amusement parks or making videos, than to go around famous clubs being wasted and stoned all the time.” 

The thing was, Spencer didn’t even want that, or really expect it. He thought famous people generally looked like douchebags, and Spencer wasn’t big on dancing or drinking, so the club scene had no appeal. He didn’t know _what_ he wanted, but he didn’t see how a baby could fit into it. Or any of the other shit they mentioned. 

“Anyone could do that stuff,” he said. 

“Yeah. But we also get paid to do our favourite thing, which means we get a nice chunk of down time between touring and recording and promoting to just hang out with our friends,” Brendon pointed out. 

“So we surf?” Spencer asked, because arguing about this wasn’t going to lead anywhere. 

“Not so much anymore, but you were getting good,” Brendon told him. 

“Oh, blow me,” Older Spencer said under his breath, and it was just casual. Fuck, Spencer said the same thing to his bandmates all the time. But the look Brendon got on his face, devious and promising, sent sparks through Spencer’s stomach when he realised, _holy shit, Brendon_ would _blow him_.

After that, he couldn’t eat a bite. His throat sort of closed off and his stomach felt heavy and he couldn’t help the thoughts running through his mind about how fucking much he wanted to see that. 

His older self didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, or was just ignoring it. “Mostly when we go to the beach now it’s to build sandcastles for our baby-zilla to knock over. I would say our other activities have changed since having her, but you would know better, because this is fucking _Brendon_ we’re talking about, and even before Carmen, trips to the petting zoo and science museum were common place.” 

“Whatever,” Brendon said. “You fucking love the science museum. You love that swirly tunnel in the space part.” 

* 

After dinner, during which Spencer noted that neither Brendon nor his older counterpart ate very much, they went into the living room. Older Spencer tried to put Carmen down on a little donut cushion thing, but she started wailing immediately, and wow, did that get old after about five seconds. Brendon picked up her back up again, nuzzling at her cheek and humming until she shut up. 

Spencer could barely remember when the twins had been so small, and he hadn’t been around any babies since then. He didn’t see that changing any time soon, because damn. It was annoying. His mom was a saint for having three kids, as far as he could tell. He thought of Brendon’s mom and her five children with vague amazement. 

Older Spencer flopped onto the sectional and sort of sprawled out, closing his eyes. Spencer had been trying not to look at him head on too much, because it was seriously really creepy and just unnatural, but he couldn’t help noticing some of the details. Like the black circles under his eyes, or the way he looked skinny, but not in a healthy way. Kids, fuck man. 

“Why did you get her?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

Spencer’s eyes fluttered open and closed again. Brendon smiled down at her as he rocked her. “You’ll get it some day,” he said, and Spencer snorted dubiously. 

The TV was still on the nature channel, showing something about dolphins, but Spencer was curious about the massive collection of DVDs and the game systems scattered around, particularly the one he’d seen earlier. “What is that thing?” he asked, waving at the white platform. 

Brendon’s eyes lit up. “Dude, you’ve never seen the Wii. Shit, you have to check this out.” 

“The Wii?” Spencer echoed. “That sounds gay.” Older Spencer opened his eyes briefly to give his younger self a slightly baffled look, but shook his head and closed his eyes again. 

“It is,” Brendon said blithely. “It is a gay old time.” He pressed a button and handed one of the tiny controllers to Spencer. It didn’t seem to be attached to anything. “That’s the main controller; it’s all you need for Sports, but they have all sorts of fancy shit for this, man.” 

“So, you put that loop around your wrist, so it doesn’t go flying, and then you move by waving your arm like you would in whatever sport you’re playing. Like in golf, you turn sideways and swing like it’s a club. Or in volleyball you, like, hit upwards. I don’t know, you’ll see what I mean.” 

They settled on golf first, because Brendon said it was easiest. He went first, to show Spencer, and it was really remarkable, the way he managed to play one handed with Carmen on his other hip. Her hand was in his hair again, but at least she wasn’t pulling, and she looked content, staring fixedly at the television screen. 

Spencer caught on quickly, and it was weird, but he felt like he was actually on the green. It was pretty cool. By the end of their first six holes, his other self was fast asleep on the couch, snoring just faintly every few breaths. 

Brendon smiled at him, and Spencer had _heard_ Brendon say _I love you_ , but seeing the way he looked at Older Spencer now, well…it said it more. Stronger. 

“He’s so fucking wiped. It was my turn to get up with Carmen last night, but he gets all stupid caveman protective about taking care of his family and making sure I have enough sleep, so he waited until I was asleep and then stole the monitor and put it under his pillow. I’ll sleep through anything unless it’s on the highest setting, right next to my ear…”

Spencer’s first thought was to insist that he couldn’t believe there’d ever be a day when he’d give up his own sleep so Brendon could have more. Then he thought of how tired his Brendon was looking, and how he’d thought of suggesting a permanent switch to having Brendon as his roommate, so the two of them could get some fucking rest without Brent’s attitude and Ryan’s bitching, so he didn’t say anything at all. 

They played for another couple hours, with the volume turned down, and Spencer slept solidly throughout the whole thing. Brendon was wilting, though, and Carmen still looked pretty energetic, babbling excitedly whenever one of them hit their baseball. 

“I’m sorry to shit out on you before midnight, but man, I’m dead,” Brendon said, when they’d finished a round of bowling. 

“You can keep playing. There’s tonnes of games down there. Or, you know, watch a movie. You can take it to one of the guest rooms, too, if you want. There are two down that hallway,” he pointed to where Spencer had woken up earlier, “and one next to Carmen’s nursery, but I don’t suggest it.” 

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Spencer said. He felt awkward and the whole thing was surreal. 

“Can you…” Brendon looked at him, and bit his lip. “I don’t wanna wake Spence. He’ll just pull the same shit he did last night and he needs some fucking sleep. Can you hold her, while I go get changed for bed?” 

Spencer eyed Carmen. “I don’t know…I might hurt her. I’ve never held a baby, and I mean—”

“It’s easy,” Brendon said. “They’re pretty resilient.” He didn’t give Spencer another chance to argue, just held Carmen out. 

Spencer took her gingerly, and she was heavier than he’d expected, but as soon as he’d gotten her on his hip, she helped, tucking her knees up against him and clinging to his shirt with one hand and his hair with the other. 

“She’s got a thing for hair,” Brendon said with wry amusement. 

“Yeah, great,” Spencer said. “Can you hurry?” 

Brendon gave him a grateful smile and laid a blanket over Older Spencer on the way out of the room. 

“Hey…Carmen,” Spencer said. Carmen looked him in the eye and dude, she couldn’t be more than, like a year old, but she looked at him like she was reading his soul or something. It was fucking creepy. 

She opened her mouth and babbled something at him, and it sounded decisive. “Is that so?” he asked. She frowned and pulled on his hair, but not very hard. Spencer chuckled a little and sat down with her. She was fucking heavy, what the hell. She looked like she weighed ten pounds, maybe. 

As soon as they were on the couch, she shifted so she was in his lap and pushed up onto her feet, standing on Spencer’s thighs. It was sorta uncomfortable, the way her tiny feet dug into his muscles, but he was worried about knocking her over backwards so he just kept his hands on her back. 

She sort of flopped against his chest, hands groping his face, fingers in his mouth, dangerously close to his eyes, squeezing his nose. Somehow, she managed to get most of his hair into his face, obscuring his vision. 

“Da!” she said, and clapped her hands like she’d accomplished something, before sitting down heavily on his lap. 

“Yeah, good job, baby,” Spencer muttered, and spat some of his hair out of his mouth. He was afraid to take one hand off to get it out of his face. She was really squirmy for such a tiny thing. 

“So, how old are you?” Spencer asked her. That was something kids knew, right? Like, they could hold up fingers. 

Carmen stared at him, then smacked him in the chest. She started babbling again, then grunting, and babbling some more, and he hoped to god she wasn’t taking a shit in his lap, or something, because he was not up for that. 

She grunted again, and he noticed she was pointing, straining for a soft fabric book tucked into the crevice of the sofa. He pulled it out and she went still, fisting her hands gently in his shirt. 

It took a little work, but Spencer got her turned around so her back was to his chest. She was a nice, solid weight against him, and her hair smelled like lavender, and something in Spencer’s chest felt weird and tight. He pushed his hair out his face so he could see, and wrapped his arms around her, holding the book in front of her face. 

“Me and My Family,” he read, and opened the first page. It was made of brightly coloured, soft fabrics, but there were little bits of plastic sewn in, and behind them someone had placed pictures. The sentences had blanks that had been filled in with bright pink marker. 

“This is Carmen Moira Smith,” Spencer read, stroking the picture in a sort of wonder. In it, Carmen must have been new born. She was bright red, and looked like she could fit in the palm of his hand, and wearing a pair of pjs with the little feet, covered in frogs, and a matching hat snug on her head. 

He turned the next page and read, “These are my daddies, Brendon and Spencer.” The picture was a candid someone had taken at what looked to be a party on a tour bus. They were sitting, Brendon on Spencer’s lap, elbows on the tabletop. Spencer had his cheek rested against Brendon’s shoulder blade and his hand high on Brendon’s thigh, and they were both smiling at the camera, this lazy, content smile, and they looked so _happy_. 

Spencer couldn’t remember ever feeling that happy. 

“These are my grandparents. Grandma Grace and Grandpa Boyd,” Spencer read. He’d only met Brendon’s parents a couple times, and looking at the picture he wondered, for the first time what they had said when they’d found out about Brendon and Spencer being together. 

They were seated together on a sofa, holding Carmen between them, and they were both smiling, but it didn’t look natural. The picture made Spencer uncomfortable and he turned the page quickly, breath catching when he saw the next picture. It was his mom and dad, “Grandma Ginger and Grandpa Jeff” written above it. 

His mom was _beaming_ and his father was wearing a goofy grin that Spencer remembered from his own childhood. They were in their backyard and his dad was holding Carmen, looking proud as shit, and Carmen’s tiny hand was wrapped around his mom’s finger. 

Spencer didn’t know how long he stared at the picture. Carmen didn’t get antsy. She just kept running her hand over the plastic, like she was as fascinated as Spencer was by what they saw. He stared until he heard Brendon coming down the stairs, then he shut the book and shoved it back in the crevice. 

“Hey sugar,” Brendon cooed, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss the top of Carmen’s head. “And sugar,” Brendon said, turning his face to brush a kiss over Spencer’s temple. He stopped mid-movement and jerked back like he’d been burnt. “Sorry. I didn’t. I’m…”

“It—it’s okay,” Spencer stuttered. His heart was going crazy again, and Brendon’s lips had barely touched him. 

“Sorry,” Brendon said again. “Here, let me take her. I’m sorry I took so long.” 

“It wasn’t long,” Spencer protested, and Brendon gave him a sweet smile. “She’s pretty cool, when she isn’t screaming.” 

“Yeah?” Brendon asked. “I think she’s pretty cool even when she’s screaming, but I guess I’m biased.” He reached over to pick her up and Spencer stood up before Brendon could take her. Brendon frowned. 

“It’s just…you look beat,” Spencer said. 

“Part of parenting,” Brendon said. He reached out again. 

Spencer bounced Carmen like he’d seen Brendon do. It felt natural, easy. “I didn’t get up ‘til right before you saw me. I’m not tired.” 

Brendon finally put his arms down at his side and gave Spencer an appraising look. “Forgive my scepticism,” he said, “but you were just telling me not three hours ago how lame my life was for having a kid.” 

Spencer scowled at him. “I’m not going to beg you to let me take your kid so you can sleep. So you can keep fighting me and I’ll give her to you, or you can take advantage of the magic of time travel, and go to bed.” 

Brendon sagged a little and said, “Thanks. Thank you.” Spencer shrugged uncomfortably and didn’t say anything. “Let me just…follow me, I’ll show you a couple things.” 

The bottles were premade in the fridge and Brendon told him about how long to put them in the microwave and how to test them against his wrist, and even Spencer knew that, somehow. Upstairs in the nursery Carmen had tons more toys, so Spencer figured they’d hang out there until she got sleepy. He almost changed his mind when Brendon showed him about diapers, but then Brendon assured him that since she’d already had a poopy one, the next would just be pee. 

“You can wake me if you change your mind,” Brendon assured him. “Or I can just—”

“Go ahead,” Spencer said. 

There was a TV in Carmen’s room, too, so he played some old school cartoons on it—they had DVDs of the stuff he’d loved as a kid, _Darkwing_ , _Scooby Doo_ before it got lame, a bunch of Disney. 

Carmen was pretty chill, now, apparently having got her fussiness out earlier, so they just played with blocks, and she spent an inordinate amount of time just messing with Spencer’s hands, tugging on his fingers, turning his hand upside down then right side up, linking their fingers together. It was maybe, sort of adorably endearing. 

Around two, Carmen started fussing and when Spencer picked her up to bounce her, he noticed her diaper was warm and heavy. He tried to follow Brendon’s instructions, but it was a little difficult when Carmen kept rolling over onto her stomach. Eventually he got her in a new diaper and it didn’t look so great, but he thought it might still work. 

He went downstairs to make her a bottle and on his way through the living room he paused, staring at the couch. Brendon hadn’t gone up to bed. Instead, he was tucked in against Spencer on the sofa. It looked like he might fall off, but Spencer had an arm and leg around him, anchoring him. 

Spencer couldn’t help but focus on strange little things, like how Brendon’s fingers curled around Spencer’s neck, how Spencer’s hand was half down the back of Brendon’s pants, holding him tight. They didn’t look comfortable, but they were sleeping soundly. 

He crept out as silently as possible and took Carmen’s bottle to her. When he came back to the nursery she was lying on her back, playing with a single block, lids heavy. He grabbed one of her Disney movies and took it and her into the guest room next door. 

They settled down on the bed and Carmen drank about half her bottle before falling asleep twenty minutes into the film. Spencer didn’t remember being tired or falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, he was blinking awake and it was daylight. 

For a second, he panicked, looking up at his own face, only different, and then he remembered and told his heart to chill the fuck out. The other Spencer was reaching for Carmen, trying to get her without waking him, perhaps. It hadn’t worked because Carmen was stretched out over Spencer’s chest and he was holding her with both arms. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Older Spencer said softly. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Spencer said, blinking blearily. He actually didn’t feel very tired. A glance at the clock on the bedside table told him it was almost ten. 

The other Spencer reached for Carmen again and Spencer tightened his hold reflexively. It was just that Carmen was warm and her breath puffed against his throat, and her tiny hand was fisted around his collar. When the other Spencer lifted her, the loss of her weight left him feeling oddly discontent. 

“Well, if you’re up, Brendon’s making breakfast,” Older Spencer said. “If you wanna wash up, there’s a bathroom at the end of the hall, and Brendon put some clothes in there for you to choose from.” 

After showering, Spencer found that Brendon had set out a bunch of jeans, pretty much every one made for teenaged girls, and a pile of t-shirts and hoodies. It wasn’t Spencer’s usual style, but the jeans were actually really comfortable and made him look skinnier than he was. And yeah, maybe his shirt was blue with pink flowers on it, but it was soft and made his eyes look brighter, so whatever. 

Brendon had made omelettes with hash browns and bacon, and it was all not only edible, but actually good. Carmen was bright-eyed and not even vaguely demonic this morning, and when Brendon fed her the yellow-green baby food, most of it went into her mouth and stayed there. 

“What time did you guys go to bed last night?” Brendon asked. 

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know, around two-thirty, maybe three.” 

Older Spencer and Brendon looked at each other in amazement. “You’re saying she slept seven hours straight through?” Spencer asked, clearly not believing it. 

“I guess,” Spencer said. 

Brendon pressed a kiss into Carmen’s hair. “That’s my baby,” he said, and sounded proud. Brendon had two platinum albums and a gold one, had a huge house, fame and fortune, and he was proud of the fact that a baby had slept the night through. It would never make sense in Spencer’s head. 

“We should do something to celebrate,” Older Spencer suggested. 

“Maybe the science museum,” Brendon said. “We could let her run around the kid’s floor for a while.” 

Spencer stared at the both of them, convinced now more than ever that he was caught in some weird Twilight Zone dream or something. “You want to go to a science museum to celebrate?” They stared back at him, nonplussed. “I have travelled through fucking time,” he said. “You have a time traveller at your kitchen table, and you want to go to a science museum?” 

Older Spencer shrugged. “Maybe there’ll be an exhibit on it,” he said, and Brendon’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile. 

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Spencer said. “What if I have to do something before I can go home? There has to be a reason I’m here, other than to get your baby to sleep through the evening.” 

“Okay,” Brendon said. “So what do you think it is?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe to see how lame you guys are and go back and change everything,” Spencer muttered, slouching back in his chair. 

“We’re going to the museum,” Older Spencer said decisively. “And you can stick around here trying to find a way back, or you can come along.” 

* 

It turned out that the museum was pretty fucking cool, but Spencer wasn’t going to admit as much. They went through the ocean room and the jungle room and really cool room that was supposed to be like the inside of a volcano, complete with smoke and a stream of coloured goo that looked a lot like lava. 

They went slowly because Carmen wanted to touch _everything_ and Brendon kept having to bend over or hold her up over his head so she could. And Older Spencer was going around being fucking gay and taking pictures of every little thing the kid did. 

The spinny tunnel in the outer space section was a fucking trip, and Spencer wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he went through it, like, five times. The other Spencer did, too, so he didn’t feel as stupid about it. 

In spite of the general gayness, Spencer found he enjoyed himself. He learned about some cool, helpful stuff in the music room, and when he saw a neat exhibit about the accordion, he got all excited about telling Brendon until he remembered that this Brendon had probably already seen it. It made him feel homesick for his Brendon, which was just weird. 

“Maybe,” Older Spencer said, when Brendon had taken Carmen to the bathroom to change. “Maybe you’re not here to do something. Maybe you’re here to see something, or learn something.” 

“Like what?” Spencer asked, and knew he sounded like a spoilt brat, but couldn’t help it. 

“I don’t know. What happened, before you came here? Did something big happen?” 

Spencer thought back to fighting with Brent over Ryan and Brendon right before bed, if he’d said something dramatic or stupid, but he couldn’t remember anything. Earlier that evening he’d been sorta mean to Brendon, but that wasn’t exactly new. 

“I don’t think so,” Spencer said. “Pete gave us the night off, so me and Brendon went to the harbour and then we got into a little fight. It was stupid. I was tired and had a headache, and I told him he was never gonna grow up. 

“I don’t know, he was just…he kept trying to, like, hang on me and shit, and he looks at me like he fucking _wants_ something, and dude, I’m trying to keep Ryan from killing him and trying to make sure Brent actually shows up for recording, and I don’t have time for whatever Brendon fucking wants.” 

Older Spencer looked pensive and pursed his lips. “You know, he’s a lot stronger than people give him credit for. Maybe it isn’t that he wants something from you. Maybe he wants to help you. We…we take on too much sometimes, and he worries about us. He isn’t like Ryan. He doesn’t need you always looking out for him.” 

Spencer scoffed. “Right. He barely remembers to eat half the time, and he never fucking stands up for himself when Ryan gets in his face, and he’s always got that stupid smile when everyone else is stressed and tired and…”

“Look, I don’t know what differences there are. I never fought with Brendon like that. Not in Maryland. I always admired how strong he was,” Older Spencer said. 

“Strong?” Spencer echoed, distracted. Had he somehow fucked things up by saying that to Brendon? It had been bitchy, but it didn’t feel big. It didn’t feel like anything he couldn’t just apologise for. 

“Didn’t his parents kick him out, where you’re from?” Older Spencer clarified. “I remember us being in school and his parents wouldn’t let him finish early, even though they’d kicked him out, and he was working at the Smoothie Hut and going to school and coming to practice, and I’d get to go home to my mom making dinner and doing my laundry and giving me an allowance to do whatever I wanted with.” 

“Yeah, there was all of that,” Spencer said dully, though he hadn’t given it much thought at the time, except to be annoyed when Brendon showed up late, covered in fruit from work and just kept smiling and placating Ryan with smoothies. 

“Of course,” Older Spencer said slowly, and bit his lip, like he was unsure whether he should speak. “I wasn’t in love with him at the time, so maybe that’s different.” 

Spencer stood up quickly from the bench, stumbling backwards. “I’m _not_ in love with Brendon,” he said. Brendon was stupid and pushy and too fucking cheerful and sometimes Spencer wanted to punch him. 

“Yeah, okay,” Older Spencer said, sorta smug. 

“I’m not,” Spencer said. “You said yourself you didn’t love him then, and you didn’t have that fight with him, so it’s different. Maybe something weird happened here, and you changed your mind, or whatever, but I’m not gay, and I’m not in love with Brendon.” 

Older Spencer arched a brow, but didn’t say anything, and Spencer’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. Brendon found them that way, staring at each other in silence and cleared his throat. “All clean,” he said hesitantly. 

“You’re arms must be getting tired,” Older Spencer said. “I’ll take her.” 

Carmen let out a stream of happy sounds when she was passed off and pressed a bunch of kisses to Spencer’s jaw. He turned his face so she could get his mouth, and her hand went automatically to his hair. Spencer tried to ignore how ridiculously stupid his other self looked, smiling at Carmen. 

Whatever, his other self was in love with Brendon. Obviously stupid cheerfulness was contagious. 

* 

They had lunch at a little bistro that served some of the best pasta salad Spencer had ever had in his life, and Carmen decided she was only going to eat if Spencer fed her, which he didn’t mind. She was pretty well behaved and he liked the way she squirmed in his lap and played with his thumbs between bites.

On their way out, they literally ran into Pete Wentz. 

After Pete and Brendon had straightened out their limbs, Pete took both Spencers in and said, “I knew it. This same thing happened to Mikey Way one time. Fuck, that was hot.” 

“Dude, what have we said about you sharing about your sex life?” Brendon said. 

“That it is a shame you two don’t do the same?” Pete asked, grinning. He looked at Spencer and nodded. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Spencer said uncertainly. 

“Shit, I didn’t remember you being so…why didn’t I _hit_ that?” Pete muttered. 

“Because I’m not gay!” Spencer said, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his stomach. Why was everyone so interested in fucking him? 

“Aww, isn’t he precious?” Pete said. 

“How did you find us?” Older Spencer said, crossing his arms and tilting his hips in a way that was fucking weird to see outside of a mirror. 

“I’ve been stalking you. Waiting to see irrefutably,” Pete said. “And now that I have, there is no denying it. We’re going to my place.” 

Brendon and Spencer looked at each other and Brendon looked uncertain, but Spencer shrugged. “Well, he seems pretty disenchanted with us. Maybe you could show him the awesome rock star life.” 

Pete’s place was twice the size of Brendon and Spencer’s, sprawling out into a bunch of rooms filled with random junk, from life-sized statues of the Simpsons to a room full of pinball machines and old school arcade games, to a room full of Ashlee’s shoes. 

The living room looked like a baby bomb had gone off, and MTV was blasting on the television. Bronx was on the floor playing with crayons and cried, “Carmen!” when he saw them. Carmen babbled back nonsensically. Brendon put his daughter on the carpet beside Bronx and she grabbed a crayon and began to suck on it. 

Ashlee took one look at all of them, Spencer included, and said, “I think I don’t want to know.” 

“Even if there’s an orgy involved?” Pete said, and Spencer felt himself go bright red. 

Ashlee looked speculative. “If there’s an orgy going on, I hope you’ve figured out who’s watching the babies.” 

“There isn’t going to be an orgy, what the fuck is wrong with you people?” Spencer asked. 

“I can’t even convince you to make out with yourself a little? I promise, the video will never leave this house,” Pete begged. 

Spencer opened his mouth indignantly, but Brendon cut him off. “He’s joking, chill out.” 

Spencer twisted in place, feeling young and stupid and hating every second of it. He wanted to go home. “Aww,” Ashlee said, and put an arm around his shoulder. “He’s adorable.” 

“I am not, why do you all keep saying that,” Spencer muttered. He shrugged her off, even as a small part of him shouted that Ashlee Simpson thought he was adorable and was touching him, omg. 

Pete wanted to know _everything_ about Spencer—what time he’d come from, how long he’d been around, what had brought him here. “Did you meet a vengeful witch? Was it a magic potion? Did you step into a wormhole?” 

“I don’t know what happened,” Spencer said grouchily. “How did Mikey get here?” 

“He never said. It didn’t really come up, at the time,” Pete said, a look of vague curiosity on his face. 

It was monumentally disappointing, but hanging out at Pete and Ashlee’s house wasn’t much cooler than hanging out at Brendon and Spencer’s. They just sat around drinking and talking, watching the babies play together and taking pictures. 

But they were fun and laid back, and talking about music stuff that Spencer was interested in, and he found himself slowly relaxing. He liked the drink Ashlee had given him, a fruity, bubbly bottle that left him feeling light-headed and like all his concerns were far away. He stopped after one, because it was still too weird to think about getting drunk. 

The other Spencer was leaning back against Brendon’s chest on the couch, cradled between Brendon’s legs, and Brendon was playing idly with his hair. If—and this was purely hypothetical—but _if_ Spencer had ever thought of which of them would do the holding between Brendon and himself, he wouldn’t have thought Brendon. Brendon was tiny and Spencer was tall, but his other self looked content and boneless. 

No one had ever held him that way, not since he was a kid and his mother had. He’d always thought he’d be the one holding someone like that. Someone soft and tiny, with long hair and breasts. He had to admit, this way looked nice, and not in a distant, dreamy sort of way, but in a very real, he could _have_ this sort of way. 

He thought back to what Spencer had said at the museum, about letting Brendon share the weight of things. About trusting him. Spencer spent a lot of time trying to keep Brendon at arm’s length, and it had never really occurred to him to even question why, but the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t come up with a good reason, other than he was worried about Brendon getting too close. The thought alone left Spencer feeling claustrophobic and hot. 

It also left him wondering if maybe being friends with Ryan Ross hadn’t left Spencer with a shit ton of his own issues he was just beginning to figure out. 

At some point, Brendon got out a guitar and started playing Pete’s requests and wow. Spencer had been distracted when he’d listened to the songs the other night and those had been recordings, which Spencer was learning could be fixed up. But here and now he could appreciate the fact that Brendon’s voice had gotten a _lot_ better. Like. Maybe one of the nicest voices Spencer had ever heard, and he knew his Brendon, with all his hard work and sacrificing, would get there, too. 

“Hey,” he said, following Older Spencer into the kitchen when he went to get another beer. “I want to know more about Ryan. I just…Hearing Brendon, and the stuff you guys made on your new album. I want to hear what Ryan made. I want to know why he left.” 

The other Spencer’s shoulders sagged and he cast Spencer a defeated look. “It isn’t just about the music,” he said. “I’ll play it for you, if you want, but…you have to understand, he isn’t the same person he was. He’s…you know, he’s gotten into stuff I just couldn’t understand anymore. The drugs and the friends and the whole scene, I don’t know.” 

They went into Pete’s study and Older Spencer played a couple songs, and it was all Spencer could do to keep from crying. It wasn’t like he was listening to his best friend at all; this was nothing like the music and lyrics he’d come to expect from Ryan, and he closed the laptop halfway through the third track so he didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

He was startled, at first, when Older Spencer wrapped an arm around his shoulder. It was seriously weird, getting hugged by himself. But Older Spencer knew just how Spencer liked to be hugged by his mom and dad, long and tight, his head tucked under Older Spencer’s chin. Somehow, it made him feel better, and he relaxed into it. In his head, he swore he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to his Ryan. 

“When’d you fall in love with Brendon?” he asked. 

Older Spencer was quiet, and then he drew in a deep breath that Spencer felt against his chest. “I think I fell in love with him a little bit when we were on our first tour. We were all so close then, I think I didn’t recognise what it was. 

“I _knew_ I was in love with him after we’d been living together a couple months and I was sitting on the couch one morning and he brought me a cup of coffee, and I looked up at him, with the sunlight coming in the window and I said, ‘I love you.’ 

“He smiled, this sorta wistful smile, and said he loved me too. So I put down the coffee and followed him back into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around him and said, ‘No, I love you,’ and he looked confused, so I illustrated my point.” 

Spencer chuckled, even though he felt a little sick to his stomach thinking about it. “He’s such a doofus.” 

“So are we, sometimes,” Older Spencer said. 

Spencer said, “Yeah,” and let out a long breath that felt like something was breaking inside him. “Yeah, I know. I don’t know how to stop, though.” 

Older Spencer shook him a little, and finally drew away, looking Spencer in the eye. “Trust him. He’ll help you figure it out. You can be doofuses together.” 

When they rejoined the rest of the crowd, Brendon and Older Spencer had this little conversation with their eyes that Spencer had only ever been able to do with Ryan, before. Whatever was said, Brendon relaxed and didn’t question their absence. 

They had take out from some Thai place and Spencer fed Carmen and helped Bronx with his chicken and noodles because the rest of the adults were more drunk than not, and besides, it was sort of fun. 

Brendon sat up front on the ride home and Spencer drove, following his instructions. L.A. drivers were truly terrifying, and the streets made no sense, and the city seemed to go on forever in every direction. Spencer couldn’t imagine ever wanting to live here. 

Then again, it seemed to be where all their friends were, maybe that was all that mattered. After all, Las Vegas was sort of a hellhole, too, beyond the casinos and shows, and those got old when you’d grown up there. 

“What’s up with your think-y face?” Brendon asked him at a stoplight. His fingers brushed over Spencer’s cheek and into his hair in a familiar sort of way and Spencer didn’t shrug off the touch. He looked in the review mirror to see the other Spencer watching them. 

“Just thinking that I must have suffered some brain damage as a result of my time travel, because I’m actually wondering what it would be like to let myself fall in love with you,” Spencer said, the words tumbling out without his express permission. 

Brendon just smiled and traced his finger around Spencer’s ear in a way that Spencer hadn’t known felt nice until just then. “I can’t promise I’ll make it easy,” he said, “but I’ll love you back like crazy.” He leaned in and pressed a tiny, closed mouth kiss to the pulse at the base of Spencer’s jaw. 

The light changed and Brendon sat back in his seat and Spencer drove. None of them said anything for the rest of the ride. By the time they got home, Carmen was passed out in her car seat and Spencer said, “I’ll get her. You guys should focus on getting up the stairs without breaking your necks.” 

“Whatever,” Brendon said, “this is nothing.” But neither he nor Older Spencer fought him on it. 

The truth was, Spencer didn’t know if he was going to wake up here again tomorrow, or be back home, and it was weird, but as much as he wanted to be home, he thought he might miss this place when he was gone. He wanted to stay with Carmen just a little longer, if he wasn’t ever going to see her again. 

She slept all the way upstairs, snuffling against his arm, and she looked deceptively peaceful for someone who’d thrown up purple and blue wax and cried until she was snotty not two hours ago. 

She stirred a little when he changed her diaper, but he picked her up and rocked her and hummed a little bit of _But It’s Better If You Do_ until her eyes closed again and her breathing turned deep. 

Once he’d tucked her in and made sure her monitor was on, he switched off the lights and slipped from the room. He stood with his back against the door for a moment, all at odds, and that was when he heard Brendon moan. 

Their bedroom door was open, just a sliver, like it had almost caught shut. Spencer heard his voice cursing and whispering Brendon’s name and telling Brendon how he loved his mouth. 

Spencer’s knees went weak and he stumbled forward a few steps, bracing himself on the wall right outside the door. He could imagine Brendon’s mouth in his mind, bright red and full, like when he’d had a popsicle or sucker. He could practically see his hand in Brendon’s hair, pushing him where he wanted him, telling him the dirty things his other self was saying now. 

Mostly, it was just sounds. Little gasps of breaths and soft moans and whispers Spencer couldn’t quite make out. He put his hand against the door and pushed, just a little. The hall was dark and so was the bedroom, and the door was silent when it gave way, opening an inch, then two, then three, until Spencer could just make them out in the silver of the moonlight. 

Brendon was on his back on the bed, knees bent and wide open, and Spencer couldn’t really see much in the dark, but he knew well enough what the other Spencer was doing between Brendon’s thighs. He knew the moment Spencer pushed inside from the way Brendon arched his back and tipped his head, neck exposed. Spencer bent over him, mouth swallowing the sound that came from Brendon’s lips. 

They moved fast, almost desperate, sharing panting breaths and rough-looking kisses. Brendon’s hips moved to meet Spencer’s every thrust and his fingers kept catching and slipping down Spencer’s back until he grabbed Spencer’s ass and jerked him in harder. They both moaned and Spencer had to reach down between his legs and squeeze his dick to keep from coming at just that. 

His Brendon wouldn’t look like that. Maybe he’d shake, with nerves or with excitement. Maybe his noises would be softer, more hesitant. Spencer would have to go slower. His Brendon was a virgin and so was he. They’d have to try out different things, learn what touches worked and which ones didn’t. 

The realisation that he wanted to see Brendon come might not have been too shocking, all things considered. It wasn’t too different from watching porn. The realisation that he wanted to be the one to make Brendon come when he saw it was a little harder to take because it was something new and wild and, to borrow Brendon’s word, very caveman of him, and Spencer didn’t want to see this Brendon come, he wanted it to be _his_ Brendon beneath _him_.

Spencer drew back, and didn’t bother risking closing the door. They were drunk; they probably wouldn’t notice, and if they did they probably wouldn’t care. Spencer went back down to the guest room he’d first woken up in. He didn’t want to stay upstairs. Hearing them was going to drive him crazy. 

This time, when thoughts of Brendon came to mind, Spencer didn’t try to push them away. He lay beneath the sheets remembering how his Brendon’s hair looked before he brushed it in the morning, all sleep tousled. He remembered how Brendon’s mouth looked when he parted it to sing against a microphone. How Brendon’s wrist curved when he played guitar, or how his fingers looked splayed out over the piano keys. He remembered all these things, and unzipped his pants, and when he came, it was with Brendon’s name on his lips. 

* 

The moment Spencer woke, he knew he was back. The mattress was lumpy and the room was cold, and Brent was snoring in the next bed over. He was still for a moment, searching his memory, seeing how much was still with him. It didn’t feel like a dream. The details were mostly still there. He sat up suddenly, wondering if he’d been gone a day and half here. 

“Brent,” he hissed, and got up from the bed. He shook Brent’s shoulder. 

Brent grumbled something unintelligible and smacked his hand. “It’s our day off, dude, go back to sleep.” 

Well, that answered that question. The time display on Spencer’s phone, still under his pillow, told him it was eight-thirty Sunday morning. The other contents of his pocket were under the pillow, too—a bunch of change, a pencil, and the fortune card from the harbour. 

He picked up the card, studying the maybe foreign language words at the bottom. He suddenly wished he had Mikey Way’s number so he could ask him about his own adventure. Then again, maybe the Mikey of this world had never experienced it and would just think he was a crazy stalker. 

He got out of bed again and halfway to the bedroom door realised he had fallen asleep in Brendon’s borrowed clothes, and that he was still wearing them. Not a dream, then. He didn’t know if he was relieved or not. 

Brendon was on the couch, watching what sounded like a cartoon. He looked up at Spencer and then stared, and Spencer couldn’t blame him. The clothes were a little weird, but Spencer was growing to like them. 

“Hey,” Spencer said. 

Brendon looked down at his lap. “Hey,” he said. His cheeks were red and the rest of him was pale, like he was getting sick. Or maybe just that he’d been crying. Because Spencer had been a jerk. 

“Hey,” he said again, and walked over to the sofa, bumping his knee against Brendon’s in a friendly way. Brendon moved his legs back and looked up at Spencer cautiously. Spencer held out the fortune card. 

Brendon took it and turned it over. He read it, then looked blankly up at Spencer. “What’s this?” he asked, offering it back. 

Spencer shook his head. “It’s for you. I bought it at that fortune thing last night, for you.” 

Brendon sighed. He had dark circles under his eyes and Spencer had this sort of terrifying desire to rub his thumbs over them and kiss Brendon until he made a soft sound, like Spencer knew he would. 

“I’m sorry, Brendon,” Spencer said. “I know what I said was shitty, and the thing is, it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t even true. I don’t know why I said it.” 

Brendon looked up at him again, and the expression on his face, like he didn’t know what to do with an apology, just made Spencer feel worse. “It’s okay, Spence,” he said. “You weren’t wrong.” And, well, Spencer could tell Brendon believed that. 

“That’s not true,” Spencer said, sitting down beside Brendon on the couch so their thighs touched. Brendon scooted away a little and looked sideways at Spencer under his lashes. 

“Brendon, you’re the most mature out of all of us. All the shit you’ve gone through, with your parents and working to support yourself. None of us could have done that. I’d have been begging my mom to take me back within a week, and Ryan would have starved and froze to death before he managed to hold a real job and pay his bills longer than a couple days.” 

“Why are you saying this?” Brendon asked. He sounded truly distressed. Spencer was hurting him again, and he didn’t even know how. 

“Because you make me say stupid shit, Brendon,” Spencer said. “You say these things—you’re so honest and fucking brave, and I wish I could be like that, but it freaks me out, and I just say stupid things I don’t mean so that I won’t tell you the truth.” 

Brendon stood up suddenly, putting the arm of the sofa between them. “Look, I forgive you, okay,” he said. He held his hands out in front of him, like he was worried Spencer was going to attack him, or something. 

“I gotta. I’m tired. I’m gonna go back to bed. Take advantage of our day off. You just. It’s fine. I forgive you.” Brendon disappeared down the hall, leaving Spencer with some animated thing with aliens. 

That was how Ryan found him, a little while later. Ryan looked at his shirt and sat down beside him, frowning. “You say something else shitty to him?” Ryan asked. He sounded upset, with the option of pissed off. It was funny, because Ryan could be as mean to Brendon as he wanted, but when other people did it, Ryan would get protective. 

“I think I want to date him,” Spencer said, not taking his eyes off the screen. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Ryan’s reaction to that. 

Ryan snorted. “So what else is new?” he said. 

“You knew?” Spencer asked, blinking at him in shock. Ryan gave him a ‘duh’ look. “It doesn’t piss you off?” 

“Why?” Ryan said, looking truly confounded. 

“Like, what if we fucked up the band, or something?” Spencer asked. 

“Then I kill him and you help me hide the body,” Ryan said. 

Spencer hugged him suddenly and Ryan hugged back. “You’re too hard on him,” Spencer mumbled into Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan nodded in a grudging way. “You know I love you no matter what,” Spencer said. 

Ryan pulled back, arching a brow. “I just want you to know. You’ll always be my best friend, and I’ll love you no matter what,” Spencer explained. 

Ryan laughed a little uncomfortably. “Kay, Spence. I mean. Me, too.” 

Spencer took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He wouldn’t mess up with his Ryan. He didn’t know how it had happened, with the others, but he’d be careful. He’d pay close attention to things. 

* 

Ryan had calmed down in the studio, which was nice, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on Brendon. He didn’t become any less tense, and his smile didn’t become any more real. 

Spencer found himself wanting all these things, and let himself want them, instead of trying to ignore it. He’d convinced himself that gradually was the best way to approach things with Brendon, but it was difficult, when he just wanted to grab Brendon’s hand, or push him up against a wall, or do the hundred other things that came to mind every time he saw Brendon, or heard him. 

It didn’t help that Brendon was wary around Spencer, all of the sudden. Spencer would sit beside him on the sofa, or offer to go with him to help bring back lunch, and Brendon would give him this guarded look, like he was ready to run at any second. 

On Wednesday, they reached the halfway mark with their CD. Their producer played them some tracks he’d been working on, and it was the first time hearing a lot of them in the official, polished, _finished_ state. It made Spencer feel lightheaded, faced with this reality. 

Brendon was enthralled by the songs, eyes bright, listening like his life depended on it, and he looped his arm through Spencer’s in his excitement. Almost immediately he tensed, like he’d realised what he was doing, and began to pull away. Before he could, Spencer shifted his grip, sliding his hand down and lacing their fingers together. 

“You sound amazing,” Spencer said, leaning close to whisper it in Brendon’s ear. Brendon shivered and pulled on his hand until Spencer let go. 

“It’s just the effects,” Brendon dismissed. 

Spencer shook his head and grabbed Brendon by the shoulder, making him face him. Brendon looked up at him reluctantly. “It’s you, Brendon. You’re voice is getting better every day, and I wish there weren’t so many effects, so everyone could hear how great your voice is without them.” 

Brendon grabbed Spencer’s wrists and shoved his arms down by his side, then took a step back. “You don’t have to pretend to be so nice,” he said. “Whatever Ryan said to you, just forget about it. I’m fine. We’re fine, without all the fake niceness.” 

Spencer was frustrated and wanted to just shake him, but he knew it wasn’t really Brendon’s fault. He had every right to be dubious of Spencer’s sudden niceness. Maybe he needed to take baby steps. 

On Thursday, he brought Brendon coffee in the morning and Red Bulls all through the day, and left him a bag of sour patch kids on his pillow while he was in the shower that night. When Spencer got out of the shower, he found five bucks on his pillow and kind of wanted to punch Brendon in the face. 

By Friday, Brendon was pretty much back to normal, and that was probably the worst part of it. Brendon back to normal was still really depressing and just _wrong_. He was clinging at Ryan’s arm and bouncing around the room like a poster child for ADD meds and smiling when Spencer said anything to him. How had Spencer ever looked at that smile and thought that Brendon was _happy_ and _cheerful_? Now it made him feel sick to his stomach. 

Saturday, they got an extra long lunch break. Ryan, who was never hungry anyway, was taking advantage of the time to work on some guitar thing, and Brent was napping in the lounge. Spencer found Brendon on the back stoop of the studio. He was surrounded by other people’s spent cigarette butts. The whole place smelled like an ashtray. 

Spencer wrinkled his nose. “Wanna get out of here?” he asked. “We could go get sandwiches at that place on the corner and eat at the park.” 

Brendon squinted up at him, tugging on the toes of his shoes. “Ryan didn’t want to go?” 

“I didn’t ask him,” Spencer said. “Just us, come on.” He tugged on Brendon’s arm, and Brendon let himself be dragged along. He even looped his arm through Spencer’s and Spencer had to fight the automatic urge to push him away. When he didn’t, Brendon dropped his arm anyway and put a little space between them in the least casual way ever. 

There were a bunch of kids at the park with their parents, playing in the sandboxes and climbing over the jungle gym. After they ate they sat on the swings. Brendon pumped his legs to get as high as he could, but Spencer just swayed idly back and forth, wondering if Carmen was big enough to sit on a swing by herself. He hadn’t even figured out how old she was. 

“You okay, Spence?” Brendon asked, dragging his feet on the woodchips to slow himself down, until they were both stopped. 

He knew it was crazy, knew they’d never find the same baby in this world as in the other. Maybe she wasn’t even born here. Fuck, who said he even wanted a baby, anyway. All the same, Spencer asked, “What do you think of the name Carmen?” 

Brendon lifted his head, frowning a little in confusion. “It means song. There’s an opera, you know.” 

Spencer felt his heart beating so fast he wasn’t sure his chest could contain it. “Brendon,” he said, twisting his swing around to face Brendon’s. Brendon looked at him like he was crazy, but didn’t fight when Spencer took his hands and laced their fingers together. Rather, Brendon’s grip went tight, like he never wanted to let go. 

“Spence?” Brendon asked. “What’s going on?” 

“I know I’ve been an asshole. I know you don’t have any reason to…” Spencer stopped and shook his head. He got onto his knees and moved closer. Brendon leaned away from him, eyes wide. 

“What’s going on?” Brendon said again, and he sounded scared. 

“I know maybe you don’t feel the same way, but that’s okay, I’ll wait,” Spencer said. 

“Feel the same way as what?” Brendon said, and now he was breathless, words barely audible even in the quiet of the afternoon. 

“I want to…” Spencer squeezed his hands and leaned closer and this time Brendon opened his legs, let Spencer fit between them. He looked like he was holding his breath, and Spencer should have found that ridiculous, but he could hardly breath as it was, so who was he to judge. 

“I want to hold hands like this. All the time. I want to kiss you and sleep in the same bed as you, and I want to know exactly how you like your burger made, and I want us to buy a house together where we can hang out and be stupid all day playing games and making music, and I want to know what your mouth tastes like when you first wake up, and someday, I want to adopt a baby girl, and name her Carmen.” 

“This isn’t funny,” Brendon said, and for a second, Spencer’s heart crashed to his stomach. He thought _I’ve said too much, of course it was going to scare him, the other Brendon didn’t fall in love with Spencer ‘til years from now_. 

Then he looked up into Brendon’s face, the way he was trying to look angry but mostly came across like sadness, and Spencer knew that look, the one Brendon wore when he was waiting to be disappointed or hurt. 

Spencer pushed forward, tilting his face up, and caught Brendon’s surprised mouth in a kiss. Brendon went tense at once, hands coming up between them like he meant to push Spencer away. Spencer opened his mouth against Brendon’s, licked at his lip like the other Brendon had done to him, and Brendon’s hands shook against Spencer’s chest and he opened his mouth. 

When Spencer kissed him deep, tongue sliding hotly against Brendon’s, Brendon went loose, breath coming out in a shaky sigh that Spencer had ached to hear. Spencer leaned back and Brendon stayed frozen as he was, eyes closed, lips parted, as if afraid to move. Spencer traced the circles under Brendon’s eyes, like he’d wanted to, and pressed a kiss to Brendon’s cheekbone. 

“You never let me finish apologising, the other day,” Spencer said.

“S—sorry,” Brendon stuttered, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked at Spencer steadily, and Spencer could tell he still didn’t believe. 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. He swept his thumb down Brendon’s cheek, along his jaw. “I was trying to tell you, it’s hard for me to say what I mean. The other night, when you said we were going on a date, I wanted it to be one so bad, and I couldn’t even admit it to myself, and I hated that you could just say it like that, and I was embarrassed, and I’m sorry, but I hope you’ll give me another chance.” 

“I didn’t—” Brendon began, staring in disbelief. “I didn’t mean that. I was just teasing you, I never thought you’d want—with me.” 

“Babies, Brendon,” Spencer said. “You make me want babies.” 

Brendon giggled, a startled, wet sound, and stopped when Spencer kissed him. This time, Brendon opened readily and wound his arms tight around Spencer’s neck. 

“Many years from now,” Spencer pulled back to clarify. 

“Many, many years,” Brendon agreed, laughing, and pulled Spencer back in. 

Spencer had been right; his Brendon kissed differently from the other. His lips were hesitant and unsure, and there was something sweet and sincere that made Spencer think of home. It made him want to wrap Brendon up in his arms and never let go. The way he saw it, there wasn’t any reason why he shouldn’t. 


End file.
